


I Have No Missionary Zeal

by Jayne L (JayneL)



Category: Supernatural, The Collector (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayneL/pseuds/Jayne%20L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, Maya thought Rachel was the devil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Have No Missionary Zeal

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Sarah Slean's 'Playing Cards With Judas'.
> 
> No spoilers beyond SPN's 'Frontierland'/ _The Collector_ 's 'The Person With AIDS'.
> 
> Crossover born of the most effortless Same Continuity Game ever played.

At first, Maya thought Rachel was the devil, grown bored with Morgan (wherever he was, whatever he was doing, whoever the fuck he was with) and returned to play yet another sick game with her instead. But then she realised: Rachel--the very presence of her--felt different. Calmer; cooler. Cleaner. Where Maya expected the devil's cloying, inescapable air of gross intimacy, Rachel was a suffusion of distance. Otherworldliness, and not just because, unlike the devil, she wasn't even trying to play human.

"Why now?" Maya demanded helplessly, when at last she believed. "Why not...why _now_?"

Rachel's voice resonated with odd majesty through the tinny radio perched atop Maya's dented and overfull filing cabinet. In the small, silent space of her cluttered office, it filled her head. "It's God's will that we walk among you now."

" _God's_ will," Maya repeated, and laughed. " _Now._ "

Rachel explained.

"You've made a mistake," Maya said, when she'd heard it all. Panic clutched her breath tight and high in her chest. "I can't be your vessel. I can't, I--I'm not--"

"You are," Rachel said simply. "You are."

When Rachel left, the radio snapped smoothly from static back to music. For a long, bewildered moment, Maya found the English words crooning from the speakers unintelligible and strange.

Earlier that day, she'd confiscated a much-loved kit and a full gram of heroin from one of the halfway house's new tenants. She stood in the middle of her office for a long time, thinking dark things, before going to the safe.

Her hands shook so much over the candle that she burned herself--or she should have. Even when, in disbelieving desperation, she held her finger directly in the flame, it only licked at her warmly, gently, and left her skin smooth and whole and unhurt.

It only made her cry harder.

When she slid the used needle into the crook of her arm, she couldn't even see the size of the dose.

After, as a gray line of dawn began fading up around the yellowed edges of the blinds, Maya curled on the floor in the cobwebbed corner behind her desk, sick and exhausted and still, unexpectedly, alive. And Rachel came to her again.

"Nothing you've done could make you unfit to be my vessel," she said, and how was Maya to know that wasn't mercy? "Nothing that was done to you, either."

So Maya said, "Yes."


End file.
